


Sanses and Papyruses! ... Papyri? ... Papyreese?

by ForthwrittenScourge



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dancetale Papyrus (Undertale), Female Reader, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Mobfell Sans (Undertale), Other, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader-Insert, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), oneshots, reader has female body parts, reader has female pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForthwrittenScourge/pseuds/ForthwrittenScourge
Summary: I've noticed that Papyrus does not get nearly enough love. I'm here to remedy that... And maybe pepper in some Sans along the way. Who knows.(But that's only if I feel like it. Papyrus gets the limelight here.)Chapters will feature trigger warnings as needed.Feedback is incredibly appreciated!Enjoy the ride!
Relationships: Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 49
Kudos: 177





	1. Soulguard (UT Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anxiety, descriptions of drowning, one swear word, near-death experience.
> 
> This was the first idea I had, and the reason why I decided to make this oneshot book. This is also the first thing I've ever posted to this site.
> 
> I hope it's a good enough starter piece, though it ran kind of long.

Every second that led up to this moment played and replayed in your head like a skipping CD. The water roiled with the entrance of its newest victim, lapping over the punctured stillness as if it was a wound.

No lecture, practice, or mock drowning could have prepared you for this.

Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

Two weeks ago sounds about right.

\-----

"Hold up, I want to talk to you."

Words that no student wanted to hear from their instructor, but couldn't ignore once they were out in the open. Obediently, you approached your proctor, fiddling with your whistle to expend some small fraction of the energy your buzzing nerves were generating.

"Yes?" You answered, apparently sounding so meek that your teacher couldn't help but laugh.

"You aren't in trouble, kid. I just wanted to talk about something I think we could improve upon." She offered, doing little to sate your anxious curiosity.

"Such as?" Doing your best to paste your usual confident demeanor over this apprehensive wannabe was hard, but getting easier by the second.

"Your submerged rescues. It doesn't look like you're reaching the bottom of the deep end when you do them. Are you?" She returned with a question.

"Well, I..." You weren't. You totally weren't. But you weren't going to say that to her. You were the student who tried, you couldn't just let her down like that!

"I don't know if I do." Smooth. How is it even possible to not know whether or not you touch the bottom? She's so gonna know-

"I see," she replied nonchalantly. Then, just as nonchalantly:

"Hop into the pool real quick and show me a submerged rescue before you shower, then."

You gritted your teeth a little, trying to oppose the sudden gravitational spike that would've sent your jaw to the floor. Instantly, your mind sprang to action, scrambling for some kind of excuse. In a mediocre display of quick thinking, you settled on:

"I, um, don't have a victim to practice on, though."

"Oh, don't worry about that," your teacher waved off your concerns. "Just get in the water and hit the bottom."

You knew that there was no getting out of this. Nodding with a tight smile, you slid into the pool from the gutter and swam out near the middle. You took a few deep breaths- or, well, you tried, seeing as the mounting anxiety was making it harder to keep more than a milligram of oxygen in your lungs. A glance at your instructor only worsened the problem, multiplying the significance of her crossed arms and cocked hip by a thousand and giving you a massive impression that you were wasting her time. You knew you were wasting your own time, too- every minute spent here was a minute less in the shower, and two minutes less drying off, and three minutes less putting your lifeguard things away and locking your locker, and four minutes less grabbing your books, and five minutes less getting to class, and six-

You submerged.

\-----

Walking out of the locker room, you saw that your ever-faithful companion was waiting for you by the trophy cases, as per the usual. Not wanting to burden him with the cloud over your head, you put on a sunny face and approached him.

"Hey Papyrus!" You chirped.

"Hello, friend!" He responded in kind, voice much lower than it should have been. He had been sent to the dean's office innumerable times for disrupting classes, and while the administration had to accept that it was just the nature of Papyrus' font to speak loudly and animatedly (on the grounds of special equality), all the staff under them apparently didn't get the memo. They could keep complaining about and berating the poor skeleton as much they pleased, it was just that no one could punish him, per se. To prevent further excursions to the dean, he simply resolved to talk in a lower voice at school- something that took a sizable amount of practice and, even after he had mastered it, just didn't... sound right. It wasn't Papyrus, or at least not enough of him, but he didn't seem to mind it. "WHATEVER KEEPS- Er, excuse me! Whatever keeps everyone happy!" was what he had said, and he hadn't said a word to the contrary.

He really was so cool.

"How was your time in training for the life guard?" He asked enthusiastically. Yeah, he didn't really know to say "lifeguard training," and that was definitely your fault. After you had heard him boast of his exploits while training to be part of the Royal Guard when he was still underground, you had informed him that you too were planning to become some form of guard. He demanded- in that sweet way of his that assured you that you didn't have to answer- that you tell him what it was, and when you told him about lifeguarding, he mistakenly thought it was similar to his old passion, and proceeded to call it "the life guard."

You would never correct him on that. It was simply too ~~cute~~ funny.

"It was- um..." A lie was building on your tongue, its architecture simple but effective. "Fine" was the perfect response, a quick way to escape the topic and segue into something else. Come on, just say it was fine! Say it! What are you waiting for? You're taking too long, he's starting to get suspicious, he's-

He called your name, bringing your attention back to the outside world from its brief recess inside yourself.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen in training today?" He was too observant for his own good. Before you could stop yourself, your facade fell into half of a frown. Without a glued-on smile to keep your mouth shut, you spilled your guts:

"Yeah, kinda..." was the best you could do at the moment. If Papyrus really wanted to know, he'd have to ask. You weren't one to admit defeat to anyone, especially when your opponent was yourself.

"'Kinda'? What happened, friend?"

And with that, you broke.

"I- I just... I can't do my submerged victim rescues right. I can't h- hit the bottom of the pool. I don't go down fast enough, no matter what I try. I've done that backwards arm stroke thing, and it just pushes me back up, and I've tried keeping in all my air until I hit the bottom, but that just keeps me afloat. All I know how to do is let all the air out of my nose immediately, but- but then I get a few feet down, and have no air, and start to freak out, and my body won't go down further, and I start swimming back up to the surface. I don't want to, I want to get to the bottom of the pool, but I just can't, I feel no air in my lungs and I start to panic and my body forces itself back to where the air is. It's... It's bad enough when you have a partner and screw it up in front of them, but my teacher called me back before I showered and got dressed and had me do one with just me and her in the pool, and she watched me the entire time, and- stars, Papyrus, I f- failed miserably, right in front of her. I wished I could sink to the bottom just to avoid the look in her eyes, but- heh, I had just proven I couldn't." If you were word-vomiting, it must have been projectile. Papyrus gave you what you thought was a long stare, and you tried to break the tension with some of your famous self-deprecating humor.

"I mean, who's heard of a life- trainee of the life guard who's afraid of drowning?" Torment you as it will, your inadequacy was not going to ruin Papyrus' little mix-up with the name.

Papyrus was silent for a very long 30 seconds, before putting a hand on your shoulder, red gloves sprouting stripes of crimson as your wet hair brushed against it. The gentle weight grounded you.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, my friend." He chastised so gently that it didn't even feel like he was. "It is simply unfair of yourself to expect to conquer a skill so quickly, especially if you are afraid of it."

You made to interrupt him, but he gave you an even more determined look, quickly shutting you up.

"But that should be nothing for the great Papyrus! So, I have resolved to help you- I will teach you the art of guarding lives while submerged!" He beamed down at you.

Despite the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about lifeguarding, and you were unsure if you had ever even seen him swim, you found yourself nodding anyway. His expression was reason enough.

\-----

Two weeks, and no results.

It had been two weeks of instructions, videos, websites, and pep talks, and nothing had worked- you were still unable to make the last three or four feet to the bottom of the pool. With every unproductive day that wore on, your instructor was getting more and more frustrated at your lack of ability, and kept you in the pool later and later to practice. All this served to do was make you more nervous, and you did even worse under her private tutelage, fueling her irritation and your own sense of inadequacy.

With enough coaxing from Papyrus, you told him as much (in lighter terms, of course, but he knew better than to take your words at face value). Instead of growing disheartened, though, he only grew more intent on teaching you how to do your submerged rescues.

And one fateful day after lifeguard training, as he waved you over by the trophy cases, he spoke conspiratorially to you:

"I think I know how to teach you how to guard submerged lives!" Yep, he wasn't without his term butchery after you had explained your deficiency, and you weren't about to correct this one, either.

"Yeah?" You ran a hand through wet hair, tired and beyond embarrassed after another day of failure.

"Meet me on the pool deck after school today! In your proper guard attire!" Now that was unexpected. Was he really going to teach you how to do this? How did he know how? Wait, could he even-

"Sure." You cracked a smile, his eagerness infecting you a little bit.

You'd just have to wait and see, you guessed.

\-----

He was nervous.

He would never admit it, but Papyrus was nervous.

It wasn't that he was wearing one of those skimpy human "bathing suits" (really, why were they called bathing suits if they were not to be bathed in? Why not "pool suits"? It would make things much less confusing, he thought), no, he was perfectly confident in his strong and able body! He had drunk a lot of milk as a babybones, he'd have you know, and he's got the bones to prove it!

Neither was it that he didn't know what he was doing- he had watched plenty of videos, read plenty of online instructing material, he had even stopped by the library to find any tomes or manuals on the subject (which he found!). He knew every step, had memorized every movement that he needed to make as both rescuer and mock victim.

The only problem was, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to make many moves. He had taken many factors into account when selecting himself as her tutor- height, weight, strength, etc., and had only encountered one potential problem. You see-

Oh! There she was!

\-----

You walked out onto the deck from the locker room, anxious for various reasons.

One, you were hoping to every star in the sky that you didn't screw up again. If Papyrus couldn't teach you, you reasoned, no one could. Not to mention, it would be a million times as embarrassing to fail in front of Papyrus, and with his instruction no less.

Two, you were worried that Papyrus didn't know what he was doing. He could really hurt himself if he didn't know exactly what to do. What if he himself ran out of air? Did he even need to breathe? Chuffing out a short sigh, you realized that you should have asked him this earlier.

Lastly, and least importantly, you were feeling a little shy about wearing a bathing suit in front of Papyrus. It wasn't anything extravagant, just a little red and black number that followed the school rules of being a one piece that didn't show excessive- ahem- parts, but this was still the most skin you had ever bared in front of him, and you wondered how he would take it. You... Well, he was too ~~handsome~~ innocent. You really didn't want to look bad in front of him, especially not by flaunting too much of your fleshy human body. Would he even like it? Does your skin gross him out? Shouldn't you have tried to lose a little weight before you-

Oh! There he was!

Bounding over to him as fast as you could (without running, of course- if anyone was going to follow the pool rules, it was a lifeguard), you made your way to his side at the deep end of the pool, grabbing the rescue tube that hung near one of the ladders to the pool and putting on the strap. Once secured, and once you had the tow line neatly gathered in your hand, you finished your little journey over to him, and smiled up at his otherwise imposing figure.

"Hi, Pap!" You greeted as eagerly as you could manage. It certainly didn't ~~hurt~~ help that he was wearing a _speedo_ , of all things.

"Why, hello, friend!" He beamed back. Internally, however, he was telling himself to stop looking at the human, to stop gawking at how smooth and beautiful all these new, exposed parts of her were, to stop staring at the curve of her hips and- Oh, Papyrus, quit it! You have more self-control than that! You were a member-in-training of the Royal Guard, for Asgore's sake!

"So, how exactly are we going to do this?" You questioned, both attempting to stall and genuinely curious how Papyrus had planned this out.

"Well...!" It was now or never. "Like this!"

And with that, he leapt as far as he could into the deep end.

\-----

Every second that led up to this moment played and replayed in your head like a skipping CD. The water roiled with the entrance of its newest victim, lapping over the punctured stillness as if it was a wound.

No lecture, practice, or mock drowning could have prepared you for this.

Your heart stopped short of its next beat despite the quickening pace of your breaths, your eyes peeled wide open and staring at the little waves that had swallowed Papyrus.

Was he... Going to come up?

You waited a good half minute. No dice. Looking into the deepest volume of the water, you saw a white shape tinted blue from the depth, undulating with the ripples of the water.

Oh no, oh stars, he wasn't coming up. He wasn't coming up, and it was up to you to save him. A quick visual sweep of your surroundings proved that there was no one else around. You couldn't call for help, that would take too long. You had to rescue him.

You had to perform a submerged victim rescue.

But you couldn't! You didn't know how! You were just going to get so close and then have to go back up to the surface! He would drown down there while you greedily choked on air, 12 feet above him! You couldn't, you can't, you've failed every time before, why would this time be any different-

Something louder in you cried out over the cacophony of internal panic, something more primal, braver:

He needs you, damn it! _MOVE!_

Forgoing your standard whistle blast, or proper entry techniques, or even your goggles, you vaulted into the water after him.

\-----

Just as he had feared, Papyrus sank like a rock.

During his descent, he watched the mix of fluorescent and natural light slowly dim into a murky blue, the world above the surface growing farther and farther out of his reach until finally, he hit the bottom.

While under different circumstances he was sure the water must have felt heavenly, he couldn't stave off the feeling that this dank, ghastly imitation of the sea floor was going to be his watery tomb.

But he couldn't just give up! His ~~girl~~ friend's success rested on his shoulders!

Instead, he opted to wait, using his magic to force water out of his skull and rib cage so that he could retain the air he had brought down with him.

After the brief disorientation that came as a result of his descent, he found his bearings and peered at the girl he had abruptly jumped from.

She was just... standing there?

Wasn't she... going to save him? She was training to become a guard of life, was she not? Why was she loitering on the deck?

Suddenly, this entire plan seemed like a bad idea.

He could always just swim back up and try again, couldn't he? Yes, that sounded reasonable. But as soon as he made to trek back to the surface, his arms were forced back down by the water. His legs fared no better. Without skin, fat, and other buoyant items in his body, he would be unable to move. His bones were three times as dense as the water around him, after all.

He was trapped.

And the air he had captured before his plunge didn't seem like so much anymore.

\-----

You had sprinted over to the spot where Papyrus had landed.

No time for trepidation, no time to take twenty practice breaths, just go, go go!

You pushed yourself up, threw your arms up, and sank.

The process was made infinitely scarier without your goggles, as the water and its chemicals rendered your vision a blurred mess at best, but you couldn't find it within yourself to care. You could still see that shimmering white shape below you, growing larger and larger by the second, until-

Your feet touched the bottom of the pool, and it took you hardly a nanosecond to analyze him before your arms shot out and caught him under the armpits.

His jaw was agape, body inundated with water. His sockets were wide open, unblinking holes in an unmoving skull, and he- he just looked so _wrong_.

He looked...

Dead.

You kicked off the pool floor as hard as you could, only making it up a few feet with the burden borne in your arms. You wrapped an arm around his chest, freeing the other to make strokes up to the surface, but he was so heavy, with nothing in his anatomy to relieve you even slightly of his dead weight.

But you couldn't just give up! His life was literally in your hands!

You kicked and paddled furiously, fighting tooth and nail against the blue oppression that threatened to drag you back to the deep. Whatever you did, you would not let go of Papyrus, you wouldn't just let him fall prey to the depths. Every second you spent below the free air made you more and more terrified that his near-crushing weight would fade to nothing between your fingertips, his dust mingling with the chlorinated death trap that he had braved just to help you.

Come on, not like this, not like _this_ -

You pierced the surface of the water with a gasp.

Quickly dragging your rescue tube over, you shoved it under the arm still holding Papyrus to keep his upper torso and head afloat, and began to sprint as fast as your oxygen-deprived body could to the edge of the pool. You hauled yourself out of the water first, knowing that you wouldn't be able to lift him onto the ground without some kind of traction for your feet, and made shockingly quick work of dragging him up. Without the weight of the water, he was a lot lighter.

Without stopping for one second to consider the fact that it probably wouldn't work on a non-human, let alone one without lungs or a heart, you began CPR.

\-----

He awoke to the feeling of vomiting. His own vomiting, to be specific.

He felt himself get flipped onto his side, knees pushed forward and arm braced against the tile by some outside force as he retched up all the water left inside his skull. It even oozed out of his eye sockets and nasal passage, as disgusting as that felt.

Despite the almost overwhelming discomfort that this caused him, he couldn't feel entirely miserable- he registered the feeling of a hand creeping gently up and down his exposed arm, and a soothing but winded voice telling him:

"That's it, let it out, get it all out. You're okay, you're fine, you're alive, Papyrus. You're okay. Just let it out." She repeated this mindlessly, almost in a trance.

Once he had gotten every drop of water out of his body that he physically could, he flopped onto his back and stared up at his savior.

His eye sockets fell wide open, and your name passed softly through his teeth.

That was all you needed to fall apart.

"Oh, Papyrus!" You broke down in sobs, covering your face. "I- I thought you were going to die! You didn't come back up, a- and I watched you sink to the bottom, and I couldn't move! I couldn't move! I thought you were going to come back to the surface, I thought m- maybe you'd be fine, but you weren't! And I stood there, useless! It took me s- so long to try to save you, and you were- you were at the bottom with your mouth open and your sockets were just lifeless! I thought you were dead! I thought that at any minute, you were going to... going t- to... d- d- du-" With that, you broke off into shorts wails, wrapping your arms around his cervical vertebrae to assure yourself that he was really there.

Papyrus stared down at you for a moment, equal parts shocked and empathetic, before he smiled, sat up, and put his arms around your waist. He cooed your name softly into your ear, rocking you back, and forth, back, and forth.

"But I didn't. Because you saved me, my dear- friend. My dear friend." He corrected himself quickly, not wanting to drop such a bomb on you after scaring the daylights out of you. "If there is anyone fit to be a life guard now, it is you. You successfully performed a rescue of a submerged victim, and a real one at that! I'm... I'm proud of you."

You pulled away from his clavicle, staring up at him with ~~beautiful~~ glimmering eyes, before shooting him a relieved, watery smile.

"Th- thank you, Pap. You mean a lot to me..."

"... What?" He gawked down at you.

"I- I...!" You balked. _That_ means a lot to me, that's what you meant to say! How could you slip up so badly, and at a time like this? Great, now your likely traumatized ~~boy~~ friend had to deal with your whirlwind of emotions on top of weathering a near-death experience! What kind of ~~girl~~ friend were you-

"You mean a lot to me too." He replied simply, his surprised expression shifting back into a smile.

Now it was you staring at him wide-eyed. Did this mean... He liked you back? As your heart flooded with relief, your brain flooded with... well, an idea. Before you lost your nerve, you used your arms- which were still hooked around his neck- to pull him down to you for a quick kiss on the cheekbone.

"... WOWIE!"

He couldn't have kept his voice down this time if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Scourge totally isn't a lifeguard in training. Nope.
> 
> Was it too long? Too short? Too much action? Too much dialogue? I would be very thankful if you left me some constructive criticism! I don't have beta readers or anything like that, so there are probably some mistakes that flew over my head, or just better things I could have done with the story.


	2. The Other Side of Paradise (US Papyrus/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drinking, mentions of violence, feelings of abandonment, swearing.

Hands stuffed in the pockets of his orange hoodie, Papyrus sighed. He could hear you all the way down the hall of your apartment building, meaning that your neighbors certainly could. He only hoped that you wouldn’t get a noise complaint, especially not once he got there- the cops would have a _field day_ if they saw a skeleton monster in the apartment of a young woman after being called in for how loud she was.

He just had to sigh again at the thought. Following the sound of your voice, he found himself in the right place, and couldn’t be bothered to knock. He whipped out his spare key and heard the bolt give way, stepping in before quickly shutting the door. Your neighbors didn’t need to hear any more of this than they already were.

One quick look around and he could already see how you had been faring. Your kitchen sink was piled high with dishes, so many that he was willing to bet that you were out of anything clean to eat or drink with. It didn’t look like anything had been dusted in a few months, and if the wrapper-laden clothes piles were any indication, the trash and laundry clearly weren’t of much concern, either.

The cherry on top of this dumpster fire, however, was sitting on the couch in the small living room. Back against one armrest and legs over the other, a bottle of cheap vodka in the hand that dangled off the cushion, you were the perfect definition of a mess. You were clad in only a low-cut shirt and panties, pants having apparently been swallowed by the river of garbage that flooded the floor. And… was that a bruise on your face?

You sure didn’t seem to mind it. You chuckled some, then took a swig from the bottle and continued to sing derisively:

_”Bye-bye Baby Blue, I wish you could see the wicked truth.~”_

Papyrus felt his Soul sink. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. Well, he was already here, he might as well make his presence known and start trying to remedy the situation.

“Hey.” He butted in lamely.

Your head snapped over to him, and your little grin slid into a frown almost instantly.

“What are _you_ doing here?” You bit back angrily, your voice certainly not lacking the slight drawl of inebriation.

“I just wanted to come and, uh, talk.” He continued, not doing much to fix your displeased expression.

“Get out,” was your very kind reply.

“Can’t we talk for just a few minutes?” Papyrus insisted, taking a few unsure steps towards you. “I just wanna- “

“Get the _fuck_ out of my apartment, you bony bastard.” Your glare sharpened, stopping him in his tracks.

He chuckled despite himself.

“Now that’s not very nice. Don’t you know how to greet an old pal?” Now he’s got it, just try to play on that nostalgia a bit. Maybe she’d be a little more lenient if he got her thinking about the old days.

“Old pal my ass. You fucking left me. No texts, no calls, no notes, no ‘hey, I’m gonna be gone for the next few months,’ _nothing_. You just took your brother and left.”

He winced a little. Okay, maybe not. Let’s try changing the subject.

“What happened to your face?”

“Fuck all happened to my face. It’s none of your business.” You grumbled, taking another draught of the vodka as if his bringing it up reminded you of some pain you needed to dull.

So that wasn’t going to work either. Guess he’d just have to go with the direct approach.

“I’m sorry, honey, I really am. I can explain-” It took your brain a second to catch up with him, but when it did, you made sure to voice your indignation.

“Don’t- don’t _honey_ me, you prick! And you can save your expl... planation, I don’t want to hear it! If it wasn’t good enough to tell me before you went ahead and left me flat on my ass, then it sure as hell won’t excuse you now.” Your volume got lower and lower as you went on, dropping to a near murmur by the end.

Stars, everything about you just screamed “hurting.” Here you were, sitting in the dark, drunk and angry, with what was definitely a bruise on your face now that he could see it better. Last he checked, it was 1:00 AM, and it was a Monday night, and you were starting to cry-

Oh.

_”I miss him, don’t you blame me? That boy went stone-cold crazy. Caught up in c- camera lust, he’s chasing that Papy pipe dream.~”_

_Oh._

Shit.

Papyrus crossed the last of the room in a few long strides and sat on the edge of the couch before wrapping his arms around you. Surprisingly, you didn't fight it- you just let your head slump onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he muttered into your hair.

"I know." You mumbled into his scapula. "But I'm still... pretty mad, you know? You- you just _left_ , and I didn't know where you were and I didn't know if I should try to call or text you because, like, what if he doesn't _want_ to talk to me, what if he's trying to take a break from me? Then I'd better not text him but I still really want to because I miss him and I don't know why he left and I wanna know how he is and, and like how his brother is and stuff." Your rambling was punctuated with little sobs, but Papyrus knew better than to try and shush you, or whatever it was that people did while someone was crying. He just let you get it off your chest. Stars know that you needed it. He somehow doubted that you had talked very much with anyone while he was away.

"Know why I have a bruise on my face?" You offered, turning your head so that your temple rested against his shoulder blade and you could look up at him with your purpling cheek.

"No, why?" He coaxed.

"I didn’t, heh, I didn’t get drunk offa this much vodka.” You held up the bottle to demonstrate, shaking it a little as if it was some paltry little shot glass. “I _was_ at a bar. Human bar, of course. Didn’t… didn’t feel like going to any of the monster bars I know.” Your storyteller’s smile faded a bit, and he knew why- the only monster bar you ever really went to was Muffet’s, and almost always with him.

“Anyway, I was on my… eighth drink? Dunno. It was probably a beer or something. Maybe not. Whatever, so, the news was playing on the TV in the bar, and this douchebag who’s sitting at the counter by me is watching it, and he starts talking shit about monsters. He’s saying, like, how monsters aren’t people, how they shouldn’t have rights, yadda yadda, all that typical propaganda garbage. I just sit there and take a swill and try to- try to ignore him, you know? But then, he starts really crossing the line.” Papyrus can hear the glass sing as you tighten your fingers around the neck of your vodka bottle. You lift your head a little to look him right in the eye as you proceed, trying to convey some dastardly significance with the contact.

“He starts, like, specifically calling out certain types of monsters. He says that bunny monsters are greedy pieces of shit because they’re running all these businesses, that Whimsuns are pussies- and that it’s fun to- to _corner_ them and watch them squirm, that Shyren is a fat bitch who can’t hold a note, just- just these _awful_ things. And I’m trying my hardest not to say anything, just sit there, take a deep breath, it’ll be okay, but he gets _worse_. He starts a tangent about all the prominent monsters, like the monster government, you know? And he makes some disgusting comment about milking Queen Toriel, and he says some stupid shit about butchering Undyne and making her into sushi. I couldn’t just sit there and deal with it anymore, so I turned to him and told him to shut his mouth, that monsters are just as good as people and- and don’t deserve to be talked about like that.”

Your mouth curled into a sneer. “This dick has the gall to _smile_ at me, and is like ‘Wait, wait, I got the best one, you’re gonna love this,’ as if I could love anything that came out of his filthy fuckin’ mouth, and then…”

“Then he starts talking about _you_.” Papyrus tensed. “You and Sans, and he’s saying, like, you’re so disgusting, you’re like rotted corpses and you ought to be buried like them, but the straw that broke the camel’s back came when he was dissing Sans, saying that he wonders how a skeleton could be a fatass, how he acts like a six-year-old and sooner or later some kiddy toucher was going to pick him up and, a-and…” You broke off, shaking your head.

“I wouldn’t stand for that. I would never stand for anyone making fun of you two, especially not Sans, and like- like _that_. I got up and asked him if he wanted to fight, said somethin’ about putting his fists where his fuckin’ mouth is since he finds it so funny to insult people who can’t defend themselves, and he laughed in my face, asked me what a little _monster fucker_ like me was gonna do, so I took the first swing and… Well, you saw my face, didn’t you?” You chuckled wryly. “I got a few good hits in, though. Clawed the shit out of his face. Throat punched him, too. Maybe that’ll shut the motherfucker up for a little while.”

You let your head fall back down onto his shoulder.

“Maybe I would’ve won if I wasn’t drunk. Wish I had. Wish I could do what you do, just rip his Soul outta his chest and demolish him. I would’ve.” You stewed in the dregs of your rage, your words petering out to nothing in the wake of your angry tale.

Papyrus was speechless. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “Thanks for getting your drunken ass kicked to defend my brother’s honor after you haven’t seen hide nor hair of me for about three months, really appreciate it, bud,”?

Apparently, he was silent for long enough for you to capitalize on it.

“You know, it’s funny. I guess you’ve been gone for so long that I can’t figure you out anymore. I can’t tell if you’re about to thank me, or tell me that was stupid, or both.” You pull away to look at him with a crooked smile, only slightly bitter this time.

“Heh. You still got the gist, honey. I’ll save the scolding for tomorrow morning, when you’re sober enough to give a shit. But, for now… thanks. The fact that you’d get your ass handed to you for my and my brother’s sakes, well, it’s… Amazing, to me.” He managed to get that much out, not quite knowing how to thank you for something that meant so much to him.

You huffed a laugh. “Of course you’d word it like that.”

“Expect nothing less,” Papyrus warned, with a smile that was quickly growing tender.

“I _expect_ pancakes or something in the morning. And painkillers.” You half-demanded, poking him in the ribs. “You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He prattled into your hair as you dug your face back into his hoodie. You let the mostly empty vodka bottle clatter to the carpet and instead balled your fists into the back of the warm, orange strip of cloth.

“... I wouldn’t get my ass whooped for anyone else, or their bro. You know that, right?”

He leaned his head against yours. 

“Hehe, yeah. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I heard "The Other Side of Paradise", I knew I had to make an Underswap fic. I mean, come on! I heard the words "baby blue" and couldn't not think of Sans. Then I realized later that the singer said "pappy pipe dream" and I just had to put in some wordplay. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Feedback would be nice, if you could spare a minute to list my mistakes!
> 
> Also, if you see the notes at the beginning and end of the chapters get all wonky or disappear, it's because I have no idea what I'm doing and keep having to fiddle with them. Just technical difficulties, folks!


	3. The Skeletal Stem Swindler (SF Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Anti-monster discrimination, swearing.

As per the usual, you were taking inventory of all your flowers, comparing the numbers of their new population with the list of sales you had made today.

And as per the usual, there were a few flowers that were… Unaccounted for. You already knew which ones those would be.

You had seen that skeleton loitering around the tiger lilies and carnations today, and sure enough, you were down by three of the lilies and five of the carnations.

You bit your lip. You knew he was doing it, you _knew_ he was stealing, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. It’s not like you were scared of him- well, at least not any more scared than you were of any other monster… Or human, for that matter.

Stars, you were bad at dealing with conflict. Why did you become a florist, again?

Oh, yeah. You’d been growing flowers for ages, and you loved it. Your arrangements had been legendary, to the point where your family and friends were paying you to furnish their weddings with your blossoms and leaving the styling mostly up to you. So, with the encouragement of your social circles, you opened up your own flower shop in town.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t foreseen the breaking of some ancient barrier, and the inhabitants that poured out from behind its remnants being so… Intimidating.

Don’t take it the wrong way, you were never one to judge by appearances- even the smallest of seeds could make the most magnificent of flowers- but it wasn’t so much their visage as their aura. With some exceptions, most of them had a general air of superiority and power, like they could punch a hole through your stomach and turn you inside out if they just felt like it. And with some of the stories you had heard on the news of how life was in the Underground, you didn’t doubt that that was a daily occurrence down there.

And now one of them, one who was definitely high on the spooky scary scale, was stealing from your shop. You weren’t sure if you could let him keep doing it, either. Sure, he wasn’t taking the most valuable of flowers at the moment, but what if he learned which ones were and started taking those? What if he just took fully arranged bouquets instead of the individual blooms you stored around the shop? 

But the other side of you wondered, what if he really needed them? What if he was giving them to a sick family member to try and lift their spirits? What if he was seriously depressed and the flowers were the only things brightening his days? You couldn’t just take something like that away from him, could you?

After a minute or so of arguing with yourself, you realized that you couldn’t. Sighing defeatedly while you locked the shop up for the night, you tried to figure out what you would do going forward.

You could always just talk to him and ask him to explain why he was stealing!

… Or not.

Walking home with no plan in mind, you’d just have to see what tomorrow would bring.

\-----

Another day, another terrifyingly tall skeleton glancing at you out of the corner of his eyesockets. You made yourself look busy, turning to water some of the pet projects you kept behind the counter, making sure that each flower got equal attention. 

It was hard to raise peonies in winter, especially dark, bloody red ones like these, but if anyone could do it, it was you! All it took was some extra TLC, enough sunlight, and a hot environment, all of which you could manufacture with a certain lamp and the thermostat. Sure, that made it a little unbearable towards the back where you worked, but it was completely worth it for the flowers. You were sure they’d fetch a high price considering how far out of season they were, and how well they were coming along when they were just barely in bloom like they were-

Wait. You just heard the bell on the door chime. You spun back around, and sure enough, that skeleton was gone, a black blur appearing in the window for hardly a second before taking off to the right. And you hadn’t even seen what flowers he was taking today! Frantically, your eyes swept over your store, mentally probing each area for missing flowers, when your eyes came upon the empty windowsill to the left of the door.

No. No way. He couldn’t have taken them. You tripped over to where the planter used to be, and sure enough, the little sign that read “Please don’t touch! Not for sale yet. :)” was overturned, with no pot, dirt, or flower in sight.

You stared in horror before flying out the door, just barely stopping for long enough to flip the sign to “Closed”. Assuming that he was the black blur, you turned right and dashed down the sidewalk after him.

Daisies, tulips, roses, all those you could let slide.

But not your blue orchids.

\-----

It wasn’t until you reached the farmer’s market that you found anything that remotely resembled the jacketed skeleton. When you reached the start of the path that ran through that grassy pavilion, you let your eyes rove over the masses before you caught sight of a black jacket lined at the hood with white fur. Moving a little closer, you were able to verify his identity- it was that skeleton, alright! As you were seeing him from the side, you could only see one of his gold canines, but that and the jacket were distinct enough features that you were sure you didn’t need any other indicators.

Eyes trailing down to his hands, you panicked when you couldn’t find your stolen flowers. Instead, there was just a small brown bag, tied off at the top…

You put two and two together and watched the shopkeep turn and set the flowers down inside his booth. Thankfully, he didn’t do anything more with them. You were about to walk over there and make a scene, but then you remembered your musings from last night. What if he needed the money?

An angry, selfish part of you told you that you didn’t care, but you knew that you did.

So, instead of breaking up his criminal sale, you opted to do the next most reasonable thing.

You would follow him.

\-----

This guy was surprisingly hard to track.

He kept taking the side streets and alleys, avoiding most main paths at all costs. The only time he had ever really stopped was to stare at a bar, some monster place named Muffet’s, before he shook his head and continued on. The rest of the time, he just plodded along at a pace that was hard for you to keep, what with his substantially longer legs. The endless cloud of cigarette smoke that wafted from behind him didn’t help, either- you had to bury your face into the neck of your sweater to keep from coughing.

You stopped your ~~stalking~~ following when he walked into a local grocery store. Despite the fact that he had just stolen and sold your most prized possession, you couldn’t help but wince a little- this chain wasn’t known to be the most accepting of monsters.

Because walking in and out of the store at the same time as he did would have been too obvious, you waited by one of the windows that overlooked the registers, leaning against the wall in just the right spot that you could still oversee the hustle and bustle of the checkout.

Eventually, your bony felon came to one of the registers to purchase his items. Your eyes narrowed. Funny, you thought, how he was willing to buy things from a store that openly discriminated against monsters, but stole from a harmless, nonjudgmental florist that he didn’t even know.

That line of thought quickly went out the window when you saw the cashier’s face twist into an expression that barely qualified as polite upon seeing her next customer, the skeleton. His mouth didn’t move at all, he just watched her ring up his items, but when it came time to pay, he looked into his little brown pouch with a thousand-yard stare. You’d know that look anywhere.

He didn’t have the money.

But… How could that possibly be? All he bought was bread, lunch meat, barbecue sauce, eggs, and what was probably ground beef! He stuck his hand into the bag and offered the cashier its contents, which looked to be around $40 if you were identifying the bills correctly (while you realized, with an angry huff, that he had been underpaid for the orchids), and all the employee did was shake her head at him with a patronizing smile. She offered him some no doubt offensive sentiment if her smirk was any indication, but the skeleton didn’t retaliate. He didn’t even say anything, by the looks of it- just left with a haggard expression.

You began trailing behind him again, and couldn’t help but pick up his mutterings as he lit up another cigarette.

“What am I gonna give Sans?”

Oh no.

Oh _no_.

He had a mouth to feed.

Any resentment that you held for the monster flew right out the window with that fact.

\-----

You finally arrived at his apartment building after another maze of alleyways.

It was… More or less how you expected it to be.

You were definitely on the bad side of town. The greenery looked like it could use a good trim with a chainsaw, and the pathway leading up to the front door was littered with cracks in the cement. The door itself was barely hanging on its hinges, not locked or even closed as it batted against the frame at the wind’s insistence. Beyond that, you couldn’t see much through the grimy window of the front door, and even if you had wanted to peek through the other windows into the individual apartments, everyone’s shades and curtains were drawn, with only a few backlit by a dim inner light.

Your pity only multiplied. You watched from behind some of the overgrown shrubbery as he entered the barely functional door and meandered up the stairs, disappearing from your view. A few minutes later, though, you saw the ghost of a light appear behind the curtains on the rightmost third-floor window, and grinned. Now you knew where he lived.

You took a mental step back. Woah, you were starting to get really creepy. Why did you even want to know where this guy lived, anyway? What were you gonna do? You knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you weren’t going to nab this guy for stealing, so what was the goal of this little romp through the city?

Nothing, you supposed. So you made to return to your shop.

But something made you pause in your tracks.

You completely forgot about your blue orchids.

\-----

You had sped back to the farmer’s market as fast as you could, and as luck would have it, it was still open. Night was just beginning to fall, but it was only 4:30, leaving you half an hour to track down the orchids.

You walked briskly over to the stall where you had seen the skeleton pawn off his stolen goods, plastering on a smile for the slimy-looking man who worked there.

“Hi! I saw earlier that you had some blue orchids, but didn’t get a chance to come by and look at them. Do you still have them, by any chance?” You asked politely.

“Blue what?” He returned with a dumbfounded expression. You felt your smile tighten at the edges a little.

“A blue flower, with a long stem that looks like a stick, and little tinier sticks branching out from it, with a bunch of smaller flowers with three big petals on top, then a hole in the middle, then some smaller petals on the bottom.” You explained.

Something must have clicked for the guy, because his glazed-over look sharpened.

“Oh, yeah! Those blue things! Sorry, lady, I chopped all the roots offa those and sold ‘em out hours ago. I might have some different ones tomorrow if you’re interested- ?” The oily man insisted, leading you to cut him off for once in your life.

“No, no, that’s fine. I was just… Curious. Sorry.” You turned and set off at a hasty pace back down the lane, ignoring the vendor’s calls in favor of retreating inward. 

Your beautiful blue orchids, just barely in bloom, were gone. They had been chopped off their stems by some amateur and sold to random passerby who would never truly appreciate their beauty. You had put so much work into them, tried so _hard_ to get the fickle seeds to sprout out of season, and the feeling of accomplishment when you finally saw that bit of green poking out of the soil was nearly unrivaled. And once the buds appeared, stars, you were _elated_. Finally, all your toil was paying off! Their blooming was an unexpected surprise, due about two weeks later according to your educated estimate, but it blew you away nonetheless. You couldn’t help but put them in the window, framing their delicate blue beauty with the white-painted streets now behind them. It was what you woke up for in the morning.

After all, it’s not like you had many friends to share the achievement with anymore. Your social life had been rather barren since you moved to the city. And as for your family… Well, they weren’t concerned. You were doing fine on your own, weren’t you? You even had your own business! So they didn’t really need to check on you or ask how you were, did they?

At the very least, they didn’t think so.

So you had been keeping to your flowers, selling the commonalities and pampering the rareties until they were ready to be sold- but not to just anyone. No, every pet project of yours deserved a worthy owner, be it a beaming nearly-wed bride in need of the final touch to her attire as she walked down the aisle (she had received a bouquet of carefully layered water lilies, if you recalled correctly), or a little boy who you found loitering around the shop, polite but unsmiling and pensive in a way that no child should be (you had plopped a Tudor rose into his open palms, greeting his questioning gaze with a compassionate smile before leaving him to his thoughts).

But now, your blue orchids could never serve such a noble purpose. You had nothing to gift to the next wayward soul that meandered into your flower shop.

You lifted your hanging head just in time to catch sight of an electronic billboard, boasting of the innumerable savings one could find at the local chain of grocery stores.

You stood there for a second, and then dashed back in the direction from where you had come.

\-----

This _was_ the correct door, right?

It had to be. There were only two doors on each floor, given how tiny the apartment building was, and you know that you saw the light flicker on in the right window, not the left. You peered back over the railing of the staircase, assuring yourself that yes, you were on the third floor.

You could only spend so long second-guessing yourself before you became impatient with yourself. What were you waiting for? Just knock on the door!

Setting the many bags with which your arms were laden onto the floor, you raised your right hand and gave a couple of firm knocks.

You waited nervously for a few seconds, but as soon as you heard feet padding towards the door, you panicked and fled back down the staircase. You were about one flight down when you heard the door open above you.

"Who the hell- ?" Whoever was speaking had cut themselves off. They must have seen the bags.

Quietly, you scampered off the last of the stairs and slipped into the night, the creaking of the door accompanied by the incredibly faint rustle of plastic from three stories above you.

\-----

Papyrus was baffled.

He wasn't expecting a visitor at 6:00 PM, and he knew that Sans wasn't, either, so hearing a knock at the door only served to put him on edge. He hoped it wasn't the landlord, because he knew that he was a little behind on their rent and that the unkempt and overweight man would be hounding him soon enough. The brothers were just a few days behind on their rent, but now that Papyrus was able to snatch and pawn off those flowers, they would have the last bit they needed to stay there. It was a shithole, sure, but it was all they could afford.

Could he really say they could afford it if he had to resort to stealing to make ends meet, though?

Whatever. He didn't really care what he had to do, just so long as there was a roof over his and Sans' heads, and some food in their stomachs. There wasn't so much of the latter tonight, because that piece of shit human clerk had overcharged him on his groceries, but there was still enough in the cabinets to get Sans fed with what could technically be called a meal. Papyrus would just have to go hungry, but he could live with it. Maybe it was karma for stealing from the cute florist.

He didn't know why she was the one he had to steal from. She had never done anything wrong to him- he was pretty sure she had never done anything wrong to anybody, in fact. He watched her smile at all her customers, even him, and while her interactions were generally awkward, no one could deny the underlying sweetness in every action she made. This quality of hers was exemplified in how she cared for her flowers; she treated them like her children, watering them just so, rearranging them constantly depending on where they needed to be to stay the healthiest, even talking to them sometimes. She also kept a few behind her counter, and these ones she paid particular attention to. They were always stunning flowers, of many breeds and colors that he probably couldn't begin to recognize, and they always eventually landed in the hands of a customer.

But not just any customer, he noticed. She always handed her best flowers to the person who needed them most at the time. He had stared in wonder at her intuitive selections, watching her sell and even give away flowers to just the right people, pondering how she could possibly know what carefully procured blossom to give to this adult or that child that would elicit a smile from the depths of their very Soul. He was almost enraptured by her, and as a result, started to swing by the shop more and more often, eventually making a daily habit of it.

When he got fired from one of his jobs, though, he couldn't afford to boondoggle at her shop anymore. He had to be doing something more productive, something that made money. But why...

Why couldn't he do _both?_

Thus had started his thievery. He didn't take much at first, just a flower here and there, which he was quick to find could be sold to the farmer's market just a few blocks down for a little bit of money. But as time wore on and she didn't catch him, he started to grow bolder, _greedier_ even, and take more flowers per visit. He didn't know which ones were valuable, he just took what he could stuff in his jacket without damaging it, and as soon as he had grabbed a sufficient amount without raising suspicion, he would slip quietly out of the shop, hoping that she would ignore the short chime of the bell.

When he saw that those weird stick-looking things were starting to look like actual flowers, he knew that he shouldn't take them. She had put them in the window just days ago, and even left a cute little sign by the pot so that everyone knew they were off-limits. They were definitely one of her special projects. But rent was due, and the cupboards at home were looking decidedly underpopulated, so...

He took them.

And he practically ran out of her shop once he saw that her back was still turned.

Which brought him back to the present moment, staring flabbergasted at the large load of grocery bags sitting right outside his door. His first instinct was to think it was some kind of mistake, that any second some monster- stars know a human wouldn't be living here- would pop up and pick a fight with him for trying to take their stuff. But upon further inspection, there was no way that this wasn't meant for him. All the bags were tied neatly shut, gathered in an orderly pile, and there was a note sitting on the bag closest to his door. Upon picking it up, it read:

_I know you stole my blue orchids. I watched you sell them today at the farmer's market._

Oh fuck, oh stars, he knew his luck would run out someday-

_But I also watched you get stiffed for them. I watched you get cheated out of eating tonight at the grocery store. I watched you worry over whoever you have back at home._

Wait, just who the hell _was_ she? Had she been stalking him?

_So, since I watched you get stolen from, I decided that the only way to pay you back for what you had done to me and what had been done to you was with kindness. I picked up what you tried to buy today at the grocery store, and some... extras._

Yeah, _extras_ was putting it lightly. There were at least ten more bags here than his shopping trip today would have encompassed.

_I hope that you and Sans eat well tonight, and that the money you got with my flowers can help you down the road._

Was he dreaming? There was no way this was happening, no _way_ that a girl whom he had stolen from would be so nice to him. If only she knew about all the other flowers-

_But you don't have to keep stealing from me. I've been taking inventory and noticed that some of my flowers were missing, and started to disappear in increasing amounts before I realized that it must have been you._

Yep, there's the other shoe. He was so fucked-

_I'm not going to turn you in or anything. I'm assuming you've been stealing because you need the money, and it wouldn't be fair of me to do that to you just because you wanted to put food on the table for yourself and whoever Sans is._

Wouldn't be _fair_? What planet was she from? He had been stealing from her, for stars' sakes, he deserved a lot worse than-

_In fact, I'm willing to offer you a job. Come by my shop tomorrow morning at 11 AM, or shoot me a call. My number is XXX-XXX-XXXX._

Papyrus couldn't believe his eye sockets.

_See you soon,_

_(Y/N) (L/N)_

Snapping out of his stupor, Papyrus began hauling all the bags inside and putting the food where it belonged. And as he opened a bag filled only with barbecue sauce, he knew one thing for sure:

There was no way in hell he was going to be anywhere but the florist's shop at 11 AM tomorrow.

\-----

Upon approaching the shop, Papyrus saw that he might have to eat his words.

Adorning the pristine door- at least in comparison to that of his apartment building- was one side of the ever-present white sign that he had never seen before.

"Closed".

Oh no, had something happened? Did someone grab you while you were leaving his apartment last night? You could be lying in an alleyway somewhere, shattered pieces of your Soul littering the ground like glass from a broken beer bottle, where no one could find you, and it would be all his fault-

"Hey!" A cheerful voice snapped him from his unpleasant reverie and brought him face-to-face with-

Her! _You!_

"H- Hey." He offered unsurely, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm sorry, did I keep you waiting? Come in, come in, it must be freezing outside!" You beckoned, holding the door open for him. Somehow, it didn't seem like a great time to make one of his jokes.

Once the door was shut, you gave him one of your smiles, the kind that he showed up at your shop countless times just to see more of before he started stealing from you.

"So, I take it you're here for that job, and not to purloin some pansies or something?" You gave him a playful side-eye.

"I- I!" He started ever so eloquently. "I'm sorry for all the theft, I just- " Your laughter stopped him short.

"I was just teasing, you know." You giggled, rendering him speechless with the overwhelming amount of _cute_ that radiated from you.

"That gives me a good transition for my job offer, though. You know how you just kinda stole a bunch of whatever flower you could?" He didn't question how you knew this, chalking it up to the same intuition that allowed you to magically come up with the perfect flower for any situation.

"Yeah?"

"Well, you picked some of the worst combinations I've ever seen. I didn't think any living being would ever pair asters with alstroemerias, but somehow you managed, and it looked like a flaming purple train wreck. To put it bluntly, your flower arranging skills are shit and in need of serious improvement."

Wow. You sure knew how to make a guy feel loved.

"You're breakin' my heart," He looked down at you with a grin, putting a hand over his rib cage in mock offense.

You squinted at his orange turtleneck. "I somehow doubt you have one in there, but on the off-chance that I'm wrong, make sure to pick up the pieces when you're finished. I'm sure the blood wouldn't be good for the flowers." You raised your eyes to his with a grin of your own.

"All that being said, the reason I have the sign flipped to 'closed' is because I wanted to take the day off to teach you basic flower care and floristry- _including_ some beginner's arrangement tips. That is, if you want the job."

You gave him a smile, smoothing a lock of hair behind your ear as you waited patiently for his response.

"... Sure." He shrugged, barely having to consider it for a second. He already knew he was going to say yes.

"Great!" You clasped your hands together. "In that case, you're gonna need one of these..." You trailed off, making your way to the back room to grab something.

He moved to follow you, but your head poked out of the doorway the second he stepped behind the counter.

"Ah ah ah!" You tutted. He watched your eyes flick over to the planter seated near the door to the back room, in which sat some short crimson flowers that had just begun to bloom.

You eyed him with a bit of suspicion. "Can I trust you around my special flowers?"

He wasn't sure if you were asking him or yourself, but he felt the need to reassure you anyway.

"I won't steal your special flowers ever again. Actually, I won't steal _any_ of your flowers again. I... I promise." Stars, he hated promises. The thoughtful look on your face almost seemed to convey that you knew that, but you disappeared behind the doorway before he could get a full read on you.

When you reappeared, it was only for a second, as he was suddenly blinded by a black scrap of cloth thrown into his face. He scrambled to pull it off before realizing that it was just an apron, and working it over his head with just a tiny bit of shame. It fell kind of awkwardly over his jacket, but he wasn't quite comfortable taking that off yet, so he opted to deal with the weird fit. After he was finished tying it in the back, his eyelights made to drift back over to you, only to be averted to a delicate weight being pressed into his hand. He looked down to find your hand in his, a stem pressed between them ending in a plume of... dark red petals, curled and flared around one unseen point in the middle of it all.

This was one of your special flowers.

And you were giving it... To him? To _him_ of all people?

"It goes well with your, um, gold fangs." You complimented, unable to stop the bloom of a similar red tint on your own cheeks.

"Take this as your first lesson in arrangements: complementary colors." You found enough courage within yourself to meet his eyes and smile. Somehow, he didn't scare you at all anymore. There was just something about his lazy grin, you supposed, or perhaps the way that a big bad monster like himself was willing to work at a flower shop of all places to keep him and that Sans person financially stable. Maybe it was the joke he made that broke the ice, or the clueless look on his face when you made mention of a flower with more than three syllables in the name. It quite possibly could have been that he made you a promise when he barely knew you, despite his obvious hesitance in doing so.

It might have even been the fact that the equal parts astonished and touched expression on his face right now was the cutest thing you had seen in a long time.

As you both stared openly at each other, you slowly drew back your hand, and Papyrus made to curl his fingers around the stem of your meaningful gift. Instead, he accidentally caught your outermost joints, bringing your hand to curl around his as the tips of both your fingers laced together.

Your shared gaze went unbroken as your fingers rested gently against bone and stem. Despite the mishap, Papyrus smiled, and you were quick to mirror him.

He knew he was going to have a _great_ time working here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up way longer than I expected it to be. Like, over double the length. So there's that.
> 
> To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure where this one was going. I had bits and pieces planned out, but I didn't know quite what to do with said bits and pieces before I started to write connections between each of them. I hope this was more coherent than it felt as I was writing it.
> 
> As always, I would love some feedback. Oneshot ideas wouldn't be frowned upon, either!


	4. Chompers (HT Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: PTSD, blood, hints at cannibalism.

Papyrus was bouncing excitedly in his chair.

Today was the day!

He was finally getting his braces removed!

It had been, what… Two years? Perhaps three since monsters had come to the surface, and the first thing that the human ruler of this city had done upon seeing the broken, sad husks of living beings that had just stumbled down the mountainside, was stroll right up to Papyrus and ask if he would like to have his teeth fixed.

What was he supposed to say to an offer like _that_ except “WOWIE! I WOULD LOVE THAT! SANS, DID YOU HEAR HIM?!”?

Which landed him here!

In your office!

Now, the great Papyrus was never nervous- only concerned for the state of his teeth, that’s all! It’s not like all that metal, and the weird wands they were waving over teeth, and all the things they were sticking in people’s mouths were… _scary_ or anything. Oh no, Papyrus was completely fine with watching strangers force other strangers’ bones together, occasionally eliciting noises of pain…

Papyrus wasn’t one to turn down a challenge, but he was simply considering going for a short, lovely walk to the complete opposite end of town before someone walked out of a closed door in the back of the establishment, making their way to the front and standing right in front of him.

“Hi there! You’re Papyrus, right?”

It was the doctor.

He wasn’t quite sure what made you so different from all the other doctors in the back. Maybe it was your hair, neatly pinned back to keep it out of the faces of your patients. Or your outfit, surely, somehow clean of all blood and spit despite your profession. Perhaps it was-

That smile. Oh, that smile. It spread onto your face like melting ice, only growing warmer as you looked up, and up, and _up_ to meet your new patient’s face. It almost looked like you were about to laugh, but not at him, no- _with_ him, as if the world had told some joke that only the two of you picked up on. Not wanting to be left out of the merriment, Papyrus smiled back, wincing internally when he realized that he had just displayed all of the (no doubt hard) work you would be doing by doing so.

“Of course! I am the great Papyrus! And you are, human?” He returned with much quieter bravado than usual. He was quick to realize that on the surface, humans were scared by loud noises, particularly ones made by such imposing figures as himself.

“Well, I _am_ human, so you got that right!” You giggled. “Dr. (L/N)’s the name, and fixing teeth is my game!”

“Game, you say? Don’t you mean business? Unless- oh!” Papyrus cut himself off. “Do you mean to say that this is all, in truth, a game? If so, I heartily accept entry into this event, and will fashion a puzzle for you to complete as soon as possible! Do you happen to have any spike traps?” His innocent question had dark implications which you weren’t oblivious to, but you just couldn’t keep yourself from laughing- this skeleton was adorable.

“Pffft!” You burst into loud, uproarious laughter, doubling over at the waist and bracing your hands on your knees to keep from toppling over.

“Oh no! Human! Have I broken you? Speak to me!” Papyrus put his hands on your shoulders to brace you, having to kneel down to do so. All this did was make you laugh harder, which, of course, made him more worried. By now, everyone in the office was staring at you, including all the orthodontists- who were in the middle of working on patients. No one had _ever_ heard you laugh like that. It wasn’t that you were some kind of stoic, more that you were always busy and more often than not high-strung, so the most you could manage was a smile. Somehow, Papyrus’ uncanny and unintentional silliness dissolved all that stress into nothing, mere minutes after you met him.

“Drat! I knew that my splendor would adversely affect some humans, but I didn’t expect for such a monumental interspecies task such as this to go so awry! Are you in need of resuscitation, human? I am not quite sure how to perform something like that yet, but if I must try to save your life, it is worth an attempt!” He bellowed, moving to lay you on the ground and give you what you were sure would be rib-breaking compressions.

As you guffawed out a protest, trying desperately to explain yourself through your tear-inducing laughter, you knew that Papyrus was going to be one of your favorite patients.

\-----

Settling himself down in his special chair (which was composed of a regular dentist chair and three ottomans in a row at the end to accommodate his ridiculous height), he twiddled his gloved thumbs until his very favorite doctor was to arrive. You wouldn’t be long now, just another 17 seconds now that he had sat down!

He would know. He counted every time he sat here, readying himself for the very moment in which your radiant smile would reappear-

Such as now!

“Hey, Papyrus! Big day today, huh?” You grinned at him, patting his shoulder now that it was within your reach.

“The biggest!” He assured, now able to return your smile without embarrassment due to the lovely work you had done on his teeth. It was astounding, he thought, how one little human woman could erase years of damage from his bones, almost as if she was wiping away every time that-

No. Don’t think about that right now, Papyrus. It’s a good day today, you’re going to be _happy_ today. You have to.

You chuckled at his eagerness. “I’m sure,” you shot back with a wink, “I just have to go get my special pliers. Be right back!”

As you scampered off, Papyrus took a second to sink into the dark parts of his mind that he was constantly keeping at bay. He wasn’t stupid, nor was he a child- something he was glad you recognized. He knew he had some problems to work out from his time… under there, but his therapist had said he was making good progress! Physically, he was doing well, too! His trainer was teaching him out to work out the kinks in his spine from hunching over all the time, and he had just gotten new glasses a couple weeks ago (something he hoped you would notice). Papyrus had been taking very good care of himself! The only thing he could possibly say to his own detriment was that in his haste to reach the orthodontist's office bright and early, he had forgotten to eat breakfast-

Oh. Oh no.

This could get very bad, very quickly.

B- But no matter! The great Papyrus could conquer a little hunger! It wasn’t like the far-reaching tendrils of his PTSD from his time spent in that subterranean hellscape were going to poison his sense of reason and cause him to revert back to his animalistic tendencies just because he was a little peckish, right?

He frowned. Why, oh why did his mind have to word it like _that_?

He was quick to swallow that frown as soon as you walked back, settling down in your chair and pulling a mask over that pretty smile, much to his disappointment. You gave him a quick warning before flicking the overhead light on and bringing it down to his long, white teeth.

“Are those new glasses I see, Papyrus?” Yes! You noticed them!

“Indeed they are!” He puffed his chest out as much as he could while continuing to stay still enough for you to do your job.

“I like them a lot! The sharp edges really complement your bone structure!” He couldn’t help but stare up at you in slight awe, though he had been hoping for such praise as that. You always knew what to say to make him feel like every modicum of effort he put into every day was worth it, and this time was no disappointment. If he was being entirely truthful, he had picked out these frames with you in mind, straying away from his usual curved fare in favor of something more angular and mature, hoping to avert your attention to the side of him that barely anyone paid mind to.

As your pliers drew closer to his mouth, though, he grew a little anxious. The light gleamed off the metal tool ominously, but also lent a sheen to your gloved hands, the careful, precise, beautiful little things that they were. They weren’t particularly plump, nor were they overly thin; they were the perfect thickness with which to do your delicate work, to work through with one’s teeth-

Er, to _work with_ one’s teeth.

“This might hurt a little, okay? It shouldn’t hurt that much, though, so if you feel any pain that’s worse than a slight sting, make sure to tell me.” You muttered through your mask, starting to work off the first bracket in the back of his mouth. You had already unclasped the wire, pulling the rather oblong metal semi-circle off of his face so that you could start the removal.

Papyrus felt a little conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to follow your instructions dutifully and tell you if he felt any pain. It was what you had asked of him, after all, and he would never turn down one of your requests! On the other, though, wouldn’t telling you if something hurt make your job more difficult? Then you would have to stop the whole procedure, and change the way you went about it, and maybe even give him painkillers, all the while pulling those succulent little fingers away from his teeth, too far out of reach to-

Where was that train of thought going? Papyrus stiffened his neck to keep from shaking his head at himself, snapping out of his stupor.

Though he waited patiently, the process was a long one. You were ever-so-gently wiggling each bracket, loosening it from the already weakened glue in order to slide it off the tooth, but you had to be cautious lest you run across an area where the glue was still strong and accidentally yank his entire skull along with the little hunk of metal. Papyrus knew that your care for him led you to work even slower than you already would’ve, and while on any other occasion he would have welcomed the gesture with warm cheekbones, today it was just setting his nerves on edge. Papyrus was getting hungrier by the minute, and while he had no stomach to rudely vocalize his thoughts with its misery, hunger was a very acute sense for him- how could it not be, after all he had suffered through in the Underground?

Still, he couldn’t just stop you in the middle of your work to tell you that he needed to eat. How ungentlemanly would that be? No, he would never stoop so low- he would just need to persevere, is all. Nothing that he hadn’t done before!

Well, at least, nothing that he hadn’t done before when five little meat sticks weren’t being waggled before his eyes, with another five carefully prying his teeth apart since there was no apparatus large enough to keep his jaw down within the facility. You had done it by hand every time he came in, and stars, was he glad for that now. Your index finger ventured just a little farther into his mouth, coaxing his mandible further down so that you could see the brackets on his lower teeth without having to stand up and lean right over him, and he could just taste the savory flesh of your digit beneath the glove, all the way down to your sweet, sweet blood-

You leapt back from him with a strangled gasp, clutching your right hand with your left. The noise you made had sounded like the beginning of a scream, but you clearly thought better of shrieking into your favorite patient’s face (or shrieking in an orthodontistry office in general), instead opting to suck air into defective lungs.

All of a sudden, his senses came back to him.

And he realized that he really _could_ taste your blood. And your flesh. And the chewy latex of your glove.

Stars on high, he had _bitten_ you.

He turned his head to stare at you in horror, trying to come up with something, _anything_ to say to change the way your shellshocked eyes fixed onto your finger, but he found nothing. Instead, all he could think about was the bitter tang of iron in his mouth, the disgusting taste of uncooked meat, the unswallowable plasticine strip that now populated his mouth. He turned to spit it into the trash can that sat neatly under your station, hacking up as much of it as he could, furiously wiping the red splatter off of his teeth, trying desperately to get the taste of _you_ out of his mouth.

He had dreamt of tasting you. But not like this.

As soon as he turned his back to you, you dashed to the back room to wash your hands. You scrubbed furiously with disinfecting soap and grit your teeth through the sting. Drying your hands afterward, you made quick work of splashing peroxide on your injury, having to bite the collar of your scrubs and groan into the fabric to keep from crying out in pain. After that, you made to dress the wound- pad it with gauze, wrap it with a sterile bandage roll, secure it with tape, and _there_ we go. Now that it was out of sight and no longer dripping with blood, it wasn’t nearly that bad. You noticed while you were cleaning it that Papyrus had taken off a 32nd of an inch, maybe a fourth of a centimeter _tops_. Just the tip and the nail, not enough to reach the bone. You weren’t looking at a big-time injury, you could even go straight back to work if you wanted to, it was just all the blood that had spooked you. You wondered if it had scared Papyrus, too-

Wait.

Papyrus!

You ran back out to your station to see the skeleton swiping fruitlessly at his teeth, only managing to smear the red stain of your blood around his skull. Thinking on your feet, you backtracked to grab a paper towel, wetted it in the sink, and reappeared at the poor skeleton’s side.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, I got you. Just hold still for me, okay?” You gently batted his hands away, wiping your own blood gently off his face. Thank the stars you had the privacy curtain around your area, or this would have looked _really_ bad to the other doctors, especially since none of them were so used to Papyrus as you were.

“But I- I _bit_ you, I ripped the skin right off your finger, I tasted your blood in my mouth! Are you okay?! Did I hurt you that badly?” He pleaded for an answer, teary eyes beseeching yours.

“I’m _fine_ , Paps. Promise. Seeing blood just wigged me out for a minute there, it’s all good.” You shot him a smile, and to his shocked relief, it was a real one.

“But I…” Papyrus began, about to admonish himself some more before you shushed him.

“Hey, I said I was fine, so I’m fine. End of story. I cleaned the wound, and it wasn’t even that bad. It’s all bandaged up.” You chided.

“I still… I bit you.” He repeated weakly.

“So? Look,” you sat back down in your chair with a sigh. “I know… how things were in the Underground. I’ve seen the news, watched the interviews. It was rough, wasn’t it? So I’m not going to hold you to what you did. It was an accident, and yeah, you took a chunk off my index finger, but it’s not so bad that I need to be hospitalized or anything. Honestly, I’m more worried about you.” That last bit caught him off guard.

“What?” He shot you a puzzled look.

“Well, obviously, this hasn’t happened before, so something must be wrong. Are you feeling okay? Like, mentally?” He was quick to nod, wanting to assuage your worries as fast as possible. He didn’t want you thinking that he was some kind of mentally unhinged… _monster_.

You raised an eyebrow, but something told you that he was holding back for your sake, so you let it slide. You’d coax it out of him later- for now, it was his business, and if keeping it to himself made him feel better, then it would stay his business.

“Okay then. How about physically? Are you… hungry, by any chance?” You really hoped you weren’t being offensive by assuming that, but if the way he just lowered his head and started fidgeting with his fingers was any indication, you had just hit the nail on the head.

“W- Well, now that you mention it…” He stalled. “I _did_ forgo breakfast this morning in lieu of preparing for my appointment.”

“Papyrus…” You scolded, shoulders slumping in disbelief.

“I merely wanted to get a head start to the day, is all! I- I know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, but… But you’re more important.” He looked at you tenderly, a hand reaching up to fiddle with his glasses before he remembered that they were taped to his face, setting it back down embarrassedly.

All you could do was stare at him for a few silent seconds, before a smile, the type you saved only for Papyrus, bloomed on your face.

“Come on,” you stood up, going over to where your coat and bag lay in the corner of the room.

Papyrus looked confused. “What?”

“We’re leaving.” You stated simply.

“Where?” The befuddled skeleton stood up. “And what about my teeth?”

“I was on the last bracket when you, uh, bit me. See?” You explained, holding up the hand mirror that you kept at your station to show your patients the work that had been done.

You were right, all the brackets were off. His teeth were finally straight! And with all the extra care and dental work that had been put into them, they were white and (mostly) flat, too!

He gasped, setting the mirror down gently in favor of picking you up and swinging you around.

“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, _THANK YOU_ , DR. (L/N)!” He boomed, shaking the room with his volume.

You simply laughed, stumbling a little when he put you down. “It’s nothing. Just doing my job, Pap.”

“YOU DID WONDERFULLY!” He beamed.

“Thank you, Papyrus, but could we keep the volume down until we get outside?” You reminded him gently, and his hand shot up to cover his teeth.

“Whoops!” His attempt at being quiet ended up sounding more like a stage whisper, eliciting a few giggles from you. You handed Papyrus his coat and scarf before leading him out the front door of the establishment, telling your secretary that you’d be out for a little while.

Once you reached the sidewalk, Papyrus turned to you with a questioning look in his eye sockets.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“I’m,” you started, not knowing exactly how to word this. “I’m taking you out to eat. Think of it as a celebration for getting your braces off, and my wanting to make sure you’re alright. And…” You trailed off, mumbling something under your breath.

“What was that?” Papyrus snapped out of his elated inner monologue (which consisted mainly of “SHE’S TAKING ME ON A DATE! OH MY STARS!”) to inquire after the no doubt important thing you had just muttered.

“It’s, um, nothing. We’ll talk about it when we get to the restaurant, okay?” You scrambled for an excuse, not wanting to proposition him with a relationship before you had even had a first date. He wasn’t your patient anymore, which meant you could… well, finally date him. You had been wanting to for a long time.

“Okay…” He stared at you suspiciously, but dropped the subject anyway. He instead decided to content himself in conversation during your long walk.

And if your hands just happened to drift together and interlock during said conversation, well…

Papyrus would be very content with that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic that everyone asked for!
> 
> Wait, you're telling me no one asked for this?
> 
> Oh... Well, it was just an idea I had, and really wanted to see made manifest.
> 
> Whoops.
> 
> Anyway, time for an important note, because I hate A/N chapters with a passion and would rather just put it here:
> 
> I need to work out some kind of schedule. Obviously, I can't keep up my breakneck pace of a chapter every day or two, because I do have school to worry about (finals are next week, actually), but I also don't want to disappoint anyone.
> 
> Any suggestions? Thoughts? Do you guys not care when I upload, as long as there's something new at some point?
> 
> And on that note, how long do you guys like your oneshots? How long should the entire book be?
> 
> To top off this veritable questionnaire, is there anything in my writing I can fix?
> 
> Sorry for playing 20 Questions with my audience, it's just that this is important to me and I'd like to do what makes everyone happiest.
> 
> Happy trails! :)


	5. Laying Down the Law (UF Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drugs, swearing, sexual themes.

“I’m not talking to you, you freak! I want a lawyer!” Screamed the man who was angrily trying to squirm out of Papyrus’ grip. He had been uselessly flailing his limbs like this since the officer had nabbed him- which, of course, had happened only after the man had run from him for three blocks and attempted to scale a chainlink fence with a sizeable bag of what definitely wasn’t powdered sugar in his hand. It’s not like he would get very far, given that he was already at the precinct, but that didn’t stop him from trying. 

All he succeeded in doing, however, was pissing Papyrus off until eventually the monster stopped in his tracks, tightened his hands around the human’s cuffed ones, and turned him around to face his signature spiky scowl.

“I OFFERED YOU A RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. WHY DON’T YOU MAKE USE OF IT?” He growled, effectively shutting the man up. Satisfied that the human had stopped his childish thrashing, he worked on forcing him into one of the interrogation rooms before a cleared throat stopped him in his tracks. He was quick to throw his head over his shoulder, ready to glare daggers into whoever dared to interrupt this important instance of interspecies dominance, but his plans fell through as soon as he saw who was standing there.

“Did somebody say, _lawyer_?” A sharp grin parted two ruby lips, extending to each of its onlookers a neverending challenge- _I know something you don’t._

This woman was a _shark_ , and she knew it. Papyrus knew it, everyone else at the precinct knew it, and if his slack-jawed expression was any indication, the criminal in Papyrus’ clasp was ready to learn it.

“STAY OUT OF THIS.” Papyrus’ eye sockets narrowed. He was not about to endure this wily woman for a second longer than he had to.

“He called for a lawyer, which means you turn him over to me until he gets sufficient counsel and is ready to speak with you. Now, if you would please unhand my new client, I’m sure things would go along swimmingly.” You batted your eyelashes up at his scowling face.

“AND WHY SHOULD I DO THAT?” He turned his chin up at you, summoning his fear tactics from his time in the Royal Guard in an attempt to force you to back down.

You didn’t budge, but your grin widened. “Because it’s illegal if you don’t, and you’re literally standing in a police station. You don’t want me to sic your own coworkers on you, would you? That would be such a blow to the monumental ego of Officer Papyrus.” His face was reddening rapidly, and while you would love to stay and watch his magic scribble embarrassment all over his skull, you had a criminal to talk to.

“Once again, I ask that you release my client, now that you’ve been made aware of the laws that you should already have closely memorized and tucked into the narrow interstice in which nature so cruelly neglected to set some sort of cranial mass.” Your grin shuttered into a tight smile, hiding your bright teeth behind dark lips in order to harshen the shade you were throwing.

Grumbling, Papyrus relinquished his hold on the man, who was quick to scramble over to your side.

“Th- thank you! That fucker was manhandling me, as if a _monster_ should have authority over-” You shut him up with a raised index finger.

“I advise you to keep quiet until we get into one of the interrogation rooms. He can- and knowing him, will- hold everything you say against you.” You spoke simply, leading the way into the first room with an extra swish of your hips. The criminal was quick to notice, and even quicker to follow you in.

Papyrus’ hateful glare only sharpened as the door shut and the blinds were drawn over the small window.

Well, now he had nothing to do. With his entertainment for the afternoon purloined, and his temper tested, he might as well go down to the shooting range and waste some bullets until it was his turn to play with that waste of life.

\-----

By the time you emerged from the interrogation room, Papyrus had been sitting outside of it for about an hour. 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything better to do! The chief of police had kicked him out of the shooting range after he drained a hundred bullets in 20 minutes, so he had left (not without some choice words) and gotten into his squad car, roaming around and looking for traffic violators to screw over. For once in his life, Papyrus couldn’t find anyone to give a ticket to, not even someone speeding by a single modicum! So he made the drive ~~of shame~~ back to the station, and had been waiting around there for ages. You’d have to come out sometime.

And come out you did. You strolled right out of the interrogation room, the clicking of your heels stopping right in front of where Papyrus was seated. Slowly, he trailed his sockets up to your face, taking note of your entire appearance as he went. He could see that you went for your more… Persuasive tactics. Your black pencil skirt was scrunched up higher on your thighs, meaning that you had definitely done some interesting things with those legs of yours. Your crimson button-up had the first three buttons undone, giving a rather generous view of your cleavage. Your hair was mussed up in a way suggesting adult activity, and there was a fresh, glossy layer of deep red lipstick on your lips.

You were a _shark_ , and you knew it. Papyrus knew it, everyone else at the precinct knew it, and if your next words were any indication, the criminal in the interrogation room had readily acquainted himself with it.

“Fucker’s guilty with a capital ‘G.’” You sighed, cocking a hip to holster your hand on it. “I undid a single button and his confession came out as fast as his dick would’ve if he hadn’t been handcuffed.”

“So the coke was his?” Papyrus questioned quietly, folding his arms.

“Oh, sure it was,” you smiled. “Because he’s the dealer. He said he just got a shipment in and was trying to deliver to some of his buddies when you pinched him, then had the gall to ask me if I was interested in some nose candy. In a police station. While he was _handcuffed_.” You finished with a scoff.

Papyrus replied with an annoyed sigh. “Seemed like the type,” he muttered. Some long minutes of silence ensued, in which you appeared to become more impatient, settling your other hand on your other hip and huffing some air through your nose.

“‘Oh, thank you ever so much for using your status on the bar as a way to interrogate criminals in a manner that is totally not morally sound in any way, shape, or form but lightens the load of my work immensely!’” You crooned with a horrible attempt of Papyrus’ voice. “Why, you’re welcome, Papyrus! Thank you for appreciating all the hard and barely legal work I do!”

He fixed you with another glare, but acquiesced to your unspoken demand anyway.

“Thank you,” he grumbled.

Your mouth slipped into one of those tantalizing, infuriating smirks.

“You’re welcome, Papyrus.” He wished he could memorize the way those red, red lips curved around his name.

“Harlot.” He accused weakly, looking away.

“Only for your sake,” You teased, straightening your posture only to begin your walk out of the precinct. Papyrus found his gaze snapping back to you when the feminine stomp of your heels started to fade away. To his chagrin, he could feel his cheekbones warming up a little as he watched your black-sleeved bottom swing back and forth with your hips.

“SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!” He seethed in his normal volume, hoping to smother his feelings with his usual front of anger.

You stopped just before the door, turning your head over your right shoulder with an almost practiced grace. You licked your upper lip, donating some salivary sheen to it, and purred:

_”Why don’t you give me something to shut it with?”_

He could swear that he heard the tapping of your high heels for hours afterward. Or perhaps that was just the thrumming of his Soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I haven't written anything! I just got finished with finals, and it's been one day after another of cleaning and sorting and working, and today is Christmas so I definitely had something to do for most of today.
> 
> Nonetheless, I still wanted to get a chapter out (even if it is, once again, something that no one asked for). Think of it as a Christmas present, or a Hanukkah present, or an early Kwanzaa present, or something along those lines.
> 
> It's a little short, but I did my best with the time allotted (and inspiration drudged up).
> 
> Have a great holiday, everyone! c:


	6. A Different Type of Exotic (Dancetale Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Pole dancing and general lechery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why was this one of my first thoughts for Dancetale Papyrus?

When Papyrus had heard of a dancer who might be able to keep up with him, he was floored. Of course, he had no idea what an “exotic dancer” was supposed to be (wouldn’t he himself technically qualify as one, given that his specialty was Latin dance?), but his confusion gave way to excitement when the person he was talking to told him where he could see this dancer perform. What a coincidence that this person would know of both! After thanking them profusely, he made plans to go there as soon as he had a day off.

This… Was not what he was expecting.

The establishment that he had just entered was dark, lit dimly in shades of pink and purple, probably to better hide certain… Unsavory actions on the parts of both the performers and the audience. There was a bar wedged against one of the walls, certainly not starving for patrons, and a few tables at which to enjoy the various adult beverages that were offered, but most of the floor was taken up by chairs. This was probably a good idea, seeing as the place was absolutely _packed_. There was a stage along the back wall, with a lone pole adorning it that stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Like everything in the room, the stage was mostly unlit, and the dark curtains partitioning off the backstage area didn’t do much to remedy that.

He couldn’t believe he had not puzzled it out beforehand.

He was in a strip club.

And he wasn’t exactly partial to these kinds of businesses, either. In fact, he was about to leave, and had one gloved hand on the door handle, when a brightly colored flyer taped to the window caught his eyesocket.

“TODAY ONLY - ‘LA FLOR’! Watch her dance, equal parts petal and thorn with her entrancing Latin style! But _ten cuidado_ \- she’ll break hearts just as fast as she steals them!”

One glance at her performance times, and then at the screen of his phone, told him that she was due to dance in five minutes.

Surely, he could wait that long to see if her skills were truly as remarkable as he was told, couldn’t he? He wasn’t here for any other reason, he told himself, just to see if she would make a worthy partner.

 _Dance_ partner, that is.

As the lights around him dimmed even further than he thought possible, Papyrus turned his attention to the stage, where the lights had gotten much brighter. Whistles and claps erupted from those who were already seated, anticipation coming naturally with the change in lighting, and as he made his way over to take a seat where he could fully view La Flor’s prowess, the flower in question finally appeared.

Along with her came some deceptively tame acoustic strumming from some unseen speakers, which soon made way for a more pop-ish beat and singing.

_”Que quede claro. Si tu te portas bien, yo te lo voy a dar.”_

Now, Papyrus wasn’t completely versed in Spanish. Upon coming to the surface and learning that his dance style had an entire language attached to it (and that the songs he had been dancing to _weren’t_ just gibberish as Sans had told him, incredibly false information that he had been sure to scold him for giving him later), he was elated. So elated, in fact, that he began to learn the language in earnest, starting with classes at the local school. He hadn’t gotten particularly far in his studies yet, but he still tried to practice it in everyday life.

It was for that reason that, while he couldn’t make out the entire phrase, he caught that last bit.

_“I’ll give it to you.”_

Taking that moment to reflect on the meaning of the lyrics sent his skull erupting with a blush. Perhaps he should just focus on the dancer. Leave it to him to be more preoccupied with translating the song than watching the actual-

He decided right then that he would have no problem focusing on the dancer.

Her shapely body was pulled into what he was sure was a flamenco dress, albeit with some… Alterations. For one thing, the bodice was a corset, the neckline of which dipped very low, leaving little to the imagination. The skirt, which would traditionally reach the floor or the calves at the very least, was cropped to the knee, with a slit interrupting the ruffles on the right side of the dress. The one thing that actually seemed to adhere to some flamenco standard was the sleeves, which were short, ruffled, and off the shoulder. Her feet were clad in strappy black stilettos, certainly not the type fit for dancing, and her makeup was equally dramatic, emboldened with a dark red lip and a smoky eye. Her hair was swept away from her face to accentuate those striking choices.

Papyrus made all these observations in about five seconds before snapping out of it and doing what he came here to do- analyze her dancing. She started off walking slowly towards the front of the stage, accentuating each step with the stomps so essential to the dance her dress was representing, but was quick to break off into a style of dance more, er, _typical_ to this kind of establishment. She leaned back against the pole and slid her back down it, giving the onlookers just a peek up the slit of her dress before straightening back up with a snap. She shook out her shoulders, something that looked a lot more improvised than it probably was, before she stomped her right leg forward, thrusting the entire thing, almost to her hip, out of the conveniently placed slit. Even without the temptation of underwear, the audience was hooked, and only more so once the chorus started:

_”Porque yo soy tu veneno-”_

With that, she turned, throwing the ruffles of her dress into a frenzy as she clacked her heels towards the pole. She made slow work of it, preferring to show off some complicated and loud footwork rather than rush to the part that her patrons were waiting for. All of her turns were elegant, causing her skirt to flare up _just_ enough to keep her dance interesting to the crowd, but that little bit of lechery wasn’t what Papyrus was really interested in. He wasn’t even completely engaged when she finally got to the pole and started a more classic routine of sexual acrobatics- no, what had his eyesockets locked to the stage were the little moments in which actual flamenco shone through, and that was a _lot_ of them. He could tell that “La Flor” was infinitely more interested in her dancing than her seduction, if the look on her face and the overwhelming passion dripping off her Soul when she was dancing flamenco were any indication. While she made sure to smile and engage her audience while she wasn’t, Papyrus could see right through it- her actions lacked a certain heat, and her expression was likewise void of the same warmth.

By the end of the performance, she almost looked melancholy, finishing up her routine with an in-air split supported by the bar. Papyrus could see her legs twitch and knew immediately what she wanted to do- put them down and finish with more of her entrancing legwork. She refrained, however, giving a bright smile to the audience and retreating behind the curtain as the patrons roared with applause. Catcalls rang out amidst the clapping, along with pleads of “More, _more_ , baby!” and “¡Ay, vuelve, mamacita!” If Papyrus had eyes, he would have rolled them- debauchery was debauchery, no matter the language, and he doubted that she would be swayed by one or the other.

Luckily, though, he didn’t, because if he had been busy rolling them, he wouldn’t have caught that mesmerizing dancer trying to sneak out the door, dress replaced with dark-wash skinny jeans and a tight-fitting top, heels ditched for sneakers.

Papyrus made after her with all haste, spotting her about halfway down the street by the time he managed to stumble out the door.

“Hey! _Flor!_ ” He called, trying to stop her. She stiffened a little upon hearing her stage name, turning to smile pointedly at him, apparently unfazed by the fact that he was an abnormally tall skeleton monster.

“Sorry, I don’t do private dances, and I don’t do anything more than what you saw in there.” She jabbed a thumb at the building the two had just left, looking incredibly tired of this conversation topic already. Given the reactions of the crowd, Papyrus didn’t doubt that she was asked about things like that very often.

“No, no, that’s not at all what I wanted to talk about,” he was quick to shut that down, but unable to shut down the slight blush that her implications caused. “I wanted to ask you about your dancing style. Your real one, not the more sultry type that you offered the audience.”

You dropped the sharp look and started eyeing him more curiously. He deserved that much, since he bothered to make note of the tiny amount of your performance that you could actually call a dance.

“That was flamenco, wasn’t it?” He inquired, smiling excitedly. He was already sure of his answer, you could tell.

“Yep,” you answered unpretentiously. “I’m surprised anyone noticed, actually, what with all the… _Other_ stuff.”

Papyrus nodded absently, before allowing his enthusiasm to surge forward.

“Nothing so distinct could escape the watchful eyes of the great Papyrus!” He sprinkled in some praise for himself before aiming some at you. “And distinct it was! You have an awe-inspiring style that completely lived up to my expectations! So much so, in fact, that I’d like to ask you to become my dance partner!”

You couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow. “You sure you aren’t being euphemistic, buddy? I already told you, I don’t-”

Papyrus cut off your repetition by pulling one of your arms and spinning you deftly into his chest. You spluttered, given that you were now face-first in this admittedly attractive but now dangerously close stranger’s sternum, and were about to fight your way out of his hold before he grabbed your other hand and turned you so that you were facing away from him, stepping quickly to the side and allowing you to fall, something you rushed to amend with one leg extended and another bent. He pulled your arms taut, and while you recovered from your near-collapse onto the pavement, you realized something:

He had pulled you into a perfect dip.

His smile only widened as the realization crossed your face, and he leaned down so as to allow you to hear him better.

“I'm a peruser of Latin styles myself.” He spoke lowly and afforded you a wink, which you couldn’t help but grin at.

“Damn, that was smooth,” you chuckled. “Though, that was more of a salsa move than flamenco.”

…

You were a girl after his own heart.

He swiftly pulled you upright, allowing you (and himself, if he was being honest) to get your bearings before reminding you of his proposition.

“So? Have I convinced you?” He tried to sound less earnest, but it didn’t fool you one bit. Deciding to skip the teasing, you got straight to the point:

“Yeah, you have. Meet me at the town square tomorrow, at around noon. Dress… Latino. And bring your dancing shoes.” You advised with a conspiratorial grin, watching his expression morph from shocked to elated. He nodded happily, and you began to walk away, taking a mental picture of his cuteness, before he shouted again to stop you in your tracks.

“Wait! I never caught your real name!”

You smirked over your shoulder at him.

“For now? … Just call me Flor.”

You decided that if he impressed you tomorrow, you’d give him your real name.

… Yeah, there's no way he wasn't getting that name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm gonna go ahead and mark this story as finished. However, it's not.
> 
> I have this thing where unfinished tasks make me really anxious, and I've had it in my mind to "get this over with" by writing at least one fic for each Papyrus I was interested in writing, and I've finally topped that off with Dancetale.
> 
> The thing is, I don't want to stop writing. I still have ideas that I want to get out here, I just don't want to feel like I _have_ to, you know?
> 
> I'm gonna list this fic as finished, but know that this is not the end!
> 
> I still have a few tricks up my sleeve...


	7. On the House (Mobfell Sans/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drinking, swearing, sexual harassment, and violence.
> 
> I'm not back to writing Undertale, but this is a thank-you present for one [natalyna88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalyna88), who gave me a long list of reading material that I desperately needed because I ran out of fics to read. I offered to write her a fic of her choice, and she chose Mobfell, so I was happy to oblige.

Today was clearly the wrong day to come into work.

It’s not as if the last twenty-four hours had been a series of unfortunate events- quite the opposite, in fact. It was a nice, breezy day with barely any clouds in the sky, the perfect weather for picnicking, or hiking, or walking to work. In fact, you _did_ walk to work, showing up right on time for the six o’clock shift with a pep in your step and a smile on your face. Then you were greeting your boss (not like he said anything back- Grillby was truly a monster of few words), sliding behind the bar, throwing on an apron, and mixing your first few drinks. Certain humans and monsters came in like clockwork, and you had been working at Grillby’s for long enough to know what they started their nights with. On the off chance that they didn’t show up, you’d slide their drink down to a new patron and say it was on the house- it was an easy way to turn customers into regulars, showing them a little bit of hospitality.

It was this very habit that screwed you over. See, every night, a duck monster known to you only as Red would order a whiskey sour, and since he always sat at the bar, you’d just slide it down to him and continue with your night. Tonight hadn’t been any different- you mixed the drink, popped a slice of lemon into it, and shoved it across the lacquered bartop, not giving your routine action a second thought. It was only when someone cleared their throat that you looked over to see who had gotten the drink, and it was definitely _not_ Red.

“I didn’t order this.” The human said, picking up the glass and shaking it a little for emphasis. While this caught you off guard, you were quick to plaster a smile on your face- you had screwed up enough times while working here to know how to play something off as intentional.

“I know. I saw that you looked a little dry over there, and decided to send you a little something to start your night off with. Compliments of the barmistress,” you winked, raising your lips in a polite smile towards him before turning around to continue your routine of pre-mixing drinks. Behind you, you could hear some shuffling, and a quiet “plop” of someone sitting in one of the faux leather barstools. A quick glance over your shoulder showed you that the guy who had once occupied Red’s spot was now sitting behind you, sipping from the free drink. You passed this off as nothing and continued your work, dipping the top of a glass in water to line it with salt.

“Meh. Could be better.” The guy scoffed, getting your attention. You watched as he took another sip and made a face.

“Is there something wrong with it, sir?” Your eyebrows furrowed. You mixed it like you always did, it was literally impossible for there to be something wrong with it.

“I mean, the drink’s fine, but it’s not strong enough. No real man would drink his whiskey watered down with lemon juice and sugar.” He continued, raising the cup to eye level and inspecting it as if he could’ve found a harder drink in another angle of the glass. You fought off a frown, replacing your knee-jerk facial expression with a complacent smile.

“I see. Well, you could always order something harder.” You suggested nonchalantly, pouring some ice into the freshly salted glass that you were working on. You bent down to grab the shaker from underneath the rack of alcohols, hearing the man whistle from behind you.

“Keep bending over, and I won’t need to _order_ anything harder.” He laughed. It didn’t take long for you to pick up on the innuendo, and you really didn’t appreciate it, but you had been trained to ignore creeps like this because they were an inevitable (if unfortunate) feature of all bars. As such, you were able to force another smile towards the creep.

“I’m sure something on the menu could pique your interest?” You offered, squeezing a lime into the shaker.

“Oh, I don’t need a menu, baby.” He smirked, giving you a wiggle of his eyebrows. You would have laughed in his face if it wouldn’t jeopardize the possibility of him spending some money here.

“Alright, sir. Well, you can order whenever you’re ready.” You said, moving yourself and the shaker over to the other end of the bartop to grab the tequila and Cointreau. There was another bottle of each over where you were already standing, but you didn’t want to be around that creep for any longer than you had to be.

Unfortunately, the man must have been magnetized to you, because he got up and moved over to where you were currently mixing the alcohols and lime juice. You really didn’t want to engage him in any further conversation, so you looked out over the bar, scanning for any excuse to leave your current position when all of a sudden, the door opened and in walked the most regular regular of them all:

Sans.

“Hello, Sans!” You greeted cheerfully, cutting off whatever the man in front of you was about to say. Disgruntled, he turned, only to be met with an 8’6” skeleton in a pinstripe suit sitting to his immediate right. Sans would normally sit right in front of wherever you were stationed for the night, but since the creep had taken up that spot, he had to settle for sitting just a little to the side. He definitely picked up on the difference, and it didn't make him happy.

“Heya, doll. Whatcha got for me today?” He asked, taking off his fedora and placing it on the bartop before folding his hands neatly around it. You grinned at him, snatching the salted glass from beforehand and pouring the contents of the shaker into it, topping the concoction off with a slice of lime that you placed on the rim of the glass before handing it off to Sans.

“Here we are!” You grinned. “A margarita, classic _and_ classy.”

“I would expect nothing less from a classy dame such as yourself.” He shot back with a grin of his own, revealing his gold tooth. He went to take a sip, but paused just before the liquid met his teeth, instead holding the glass out to you first.

“Taste test?” He offered, shaking the glass a little bit to entice you. You rolled your eyes, gingerly taking his drink.

“Of course.” You chuckled, raising the glass to your lips and taking a small sip. Now, since you had had such a good day today, you had decided to spruce up your appearance a little bit before leaving for work- namely by applying a dark red lipstick. Perhaps this was just a coincidence, or perhaps it was meant to match the usual crimson dress shirt that you saw under Sans’ suit jackets. Whatever the case, this dark red lipstick now found a second home on the rim of Sans’ glass, which he was sure to notice when you passed the glass back to him. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he inspected the marks your lips left on the glass, fighting back a smile as you watched his grin grow. You pretended not to notice as he took a drink from the glass, not-so-discreetly running his bright red tongue over the dark red stain of your lips. The creep to Sans’ left, however, did not have nearly as much grace, gawking openly at the skeleton and sneering.

“Disgusting.” The man said, and not quietly at that. You watched the smile on Sans’ face strain, and you did your best not to glare at the asshole too, but neither of you did anything. There would always be a human or two like this in the bar, and while you didn’t agree with this type of behavior, he _did_ have a right to free speech. Sans, being the bigger person (both metaphorically and literally), didn’t say anything about the rude comment, but this guy apparently did not realize when it was time to shut up.

“Aren’t you going to do something about him?” The man said, gesturing rudely to Sans. You turned to the asshole with a fake look of confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” You responded. The guy groaned, glaring at you.

“Well, could you at least move him? His obvious sexual attraction to you is making me uncomfortable.” It took everything in you not to scoff. If hypocrisy had a scent, this man would be _reeking_. Oh, wait, he already did reek.

You shot an apologetic look to Sans, who looked about ready to gaster blast this douchebag through the wall, before turning to the rude patron and finally giving him a piece of your mind.

“Look, sir, I can’t control where the patrons choose to sit. And allow me to remind you that you’re asking me to remove a paying customer from your general vicinity when you haven’t even ordered anything.” Well, you didn’t say that you were going to give him a particularly _large_ piece of your mind.

The man scowled. “I didn’t see him pay for anything.” He replied obstinately. A loud slam rang out as Sans’ hand hit the bartop, removing his large skeletal fingers only to reveal a hundred dollar bill.

“Give me a tommy gun, doll.” Came his deep voice, kind but rimmed with irritation. You nodded eagerly, taking the bill and backing away towards the shelves behind you to get what you needed. The best part of his order was that it wasn’t a real drink- it was something you had created just for him, a recipe written nowhere else but inside your mind, and it was also somewhat complicated, meaning that you would be out of reach of the creep sitting at the counter for at least five minutes. You reached up toward the taller shelves to grab the most expensive alcohol the bar had, a pricey malt scotch whiskey, when something tugged on your apron and almost knocked you right off your feet. You stumbled back, almost hitting the bar, but a huge pair of boney hands caught you before you could crash into it. You already knew who it was that caught you- no one else’s hands could completely encircle your waist like that- but you still looked over your shoulder to see Sans, leaning almost completely over the bar counter, face panicked and angry.

“You okay, doll?” He asked, making sure you were standing upright before reaching into his pocket and grabbing a handkerchief, wiping a couple drops of red sweat off his brow before wiping yours carefully. You hadn’t even noticed that you were sweating.

You nodded towards him in thanks before quickly spinning around to see the culprit, not surprised to see none other than the bar creep grinning at you cockily.

“I’m ready to order, _doll_.” He cooed. You bit your lip, swallowing back a cringe, and were quick to cut in before Sans could start speaking.

“I’d like to ask you to refrain from doing that ever again. If I had had a bottle in my hands, that could have ended very poorly.” You said flatly, not giving this prick the satisfaction of an emotional response. Somehow, that seemed to piss both the creep and Sans off- the creep because he wanted to get a rise out of you and Sans because he wasn’t happy that you were letting yourself be pushed around by this waste of life.

“Yeah, yeah,” the man waved you off, pulling a ten dollar bill out of his pocket. “Pour me a shot of fireball whiskey.” He demanded, holding the money out for you and staring very obviously at your breasts, which were just visible through the top of your dress shirt.

You did not trust him to hand you the money without trying something. “Could you please set the money on the counter?” You requested.

“Nah, you can come and get it.” He replied rudely. You could see Sans’ fist clench on the bartop, and you brushed your own hand over it quickly, making it look like you had lost your balance so as not to irritate the creep. Sans relaxed just a tad at your touch, comforted by the comparably tiny fingers settling over his own.

“No, I cannot.” You replied, finally using a tone harsher than your usual passive voice. The creep did not like that tone.

“Don’t talk to me that way!” He commanded loudly, picking up his half-finished whiskey sour and splashing you with the remaining liquid, turning your white top see-through instantly.

Everything stopped inside the bar. Everyone must have been watching the show, because all of a sudden everything went quiet and everyone was staring straight at you and your very visible cleavage.

Sans had snapped out of his stupor, and was so angry that he was shaking- you could hear the clacks of his bones from the other end of the building. He raised a hand, and was just about to make this guy wish he was never born, when suddenly your own hand shot out and was gripping the hair of the creep. Instantly, you slammed his face down onto the bartop with all the force in your body. _That_ put Sans back into a stupor, and he watched in stunned silence with the rest of the patrons as you yanked him back up by his hair and threw him backwards off his stool, watching him tumble to the ground with a shout.

You turned and grabbed the closest, largest bottle of liquor within arm’s reach- a six liter bottle of vodka- before vaulting over the bar counter and hunching over the fallen creep. Before he could get up, you raised the bottle, wielding it like a baseball bat, and with a cry you brought it down on top of him. Again and again, you hit him with the bottle, nailing him in the face, the chest, the stomach, even the balls a couple times, all the while cursing his name to kingdom come. You might’ve even invented some swear words while you were screaming, but you weren’t paying any attention to what was coming out of your mouth- just bringing this slimy piece of shit as much pain as possible. It wasn’t until Sans pulled you away from his unconscious body that you realized that you had knocked him out and probably broken a few of his bones. Heaving, you dropped the bottle of vodka, shocked that it hadn’t shattered on you, and looked around the bar, leaning tiredly into Sans while you did so. Though you barely reached his ribcage, he wrapped a massive arm around you, almost trying to shield you from the eyes of the onlookers, which were many in number. Every monster and human alike was staring at you, shocked- including your boss. You had never been so sure that you were about to be fired in your life, and were preparing for the scolding of a lifetime when your boss approached you, his flames in a frenzy.

You closed your eyes, but to your shock, a warm hand landed on your shoulder. Opening your eyes, you watched as your boss mutely patted your shoulder before turning to Sans, gesturing to the comatose human body lying on his floor.

“I got you, Grillbz.” Sans replied with a smile, moving over to pick up the bastard and haul him out of the bar. "Usual body dump spot?" He inquired, earning a nod from the flame elemental. He chuckled, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Can't promise that he'll still be breathing by the time he gets there." 

You moved to help him, but Sans held up a hand.

“There’s no way in hell you’d be able to pick this guy up, doll. I can take care of it.” And with that, he hauled the guy up in one arm and lugged him outside.

You ran a hand through your hair, stressed out and thoroughly exhausted. Grillby nodded towards the door, giving you permission to leave for the night, but you just shook your head.

“Nah, boss, I want to finish my shift. Besides, I think I owe him a drink for taking out the trash for me.” You grinned.

You swore that you could see a smile peeking through Grillby’s flames, but he simply nodded, adjusted his glasses, and returned to the back room.

You padded back behind the counter and grabbed a large tumbler, standing on the tips of your toes to grab that malt scotch whiskey from before, along with a bottle of Cognac, a bottle of sweet vermouth, some Benedictine, Peychaud’s and Angostura bitters, and your special ingredient- mustard. Upon picking up the yellow bottle, however, you had some second thoughts. Sans had been awfully patient tonight, and he was doing you a big favor by getting rid of your victim, so he deserved something a little more... _special_ than the usual fare. Nodding to yourself, you put the regular mustard back and ventured into the back room for something that would make the flavor pop.

When Sans walked back into the bar, you were nowhere to be seen. He walked back over to the counter, assuming that you had taken the night off and readying himself to call for Grillby, when he spotted something by his forgotten fedora: a glass. It didn’t take him more than five seconds to realize what it was, grinning at the drink- a tommy gun. He took a sip of it, and his eyelights lit up. This was no regular tommy gun. Something was very different about it, but it wasn’t a bad kind of different, not at all. In fact, whatever you had done to it gave it a kick unlike anything he had ever tasted, a spice that burned pleasantly on the way down. It was only then that he noticed something else sitting by his fedora, an orange bottle and a napkin. He snatched up the napkin to find a message written on it in red (your lipstick, perhaps?).

_”Enjoy the drink. It’s on the house, so you’ll find your $100 in the brim of your fedora. I tried a little something new with it, put karashi in it instead of regular mustard. It’s a little more expensive, but it’s the least I can do for you for taking care of that piece of shit for me. Speaking of rewards, meet me in the alley behind the bar in 5 minutes- you’ll be licking lipstick off of more than just a glass, if you catch my drift. ;) “_

Smiling deviously, Sans drained the rest of his drink in one go. He stood up, pocketing the karashi and napkin, putting his fedora back on his head, and walking right out the door. He approached the entrance of the alleyway only to be yanked down to his knees by a fist around his tie and quickly attached to a small, ravenous pair of lips. Once you finally parted from him with a satisfied smirk, he opened his mouth, running a bright red tongue over his now dark red teeth.

He’d never forget the taste of your lipstick.


End file.
